I’ve baked some Old Fashioned Cornbread from my American SIL’s recipe today so that I can use it in her recipe for stuffing (dressing as she calls it) for our Thanksgiving dinner which we will be doing on Friday.
November is properly with us. Yesterday we woke to a frost which was a big surprise after the warmth of the early part of the month. This poem by Theodore Roethke describes the cold and the coming of Winter perfectly though we are lucky here in England as the green stays with us throughout the year and we still have Fuchsia and Clematis in flower.
The Coming of The Cold – Theodore Roethke
The ribs of leaves lie in the dust,
The beak of frost has pecked the bough,
The briar bears its thorn, and drought
Has left its ravage on the field.
The season’s wreckage lies about,
Late autumn fruit is rotted now.
All shade is lean, the antic branch
Jerks skyward at the touch of wind,
Dense trees no longer hold the light,
The hedge and orchard grove are thinned.
The dank bark dries beneath the sun,
The last of harvesting is done.
All things are brought to barn and fold.
The oak leaves strain to be unbound,
The sky turns dark, the year grows old,
The bud draw in before the cold.
The small brook dies within its bed;
The stem that holds the bee is prone;
Old hedgerows keep the leaves; the phlox,
That late autumnal bloom, is dead.
All summer green is now undone:
The hills are grey, the trees are bare,
The mould upon the branch is dry,
The fields are harsh and bare, the rocks
Gleam sharply on the narrow sight.
The land is desolate, the sun
No longer gilds the scene at noon;
Winds gather in the north and blow
Bleak clouds across the heavy sky,
And frost is marrow-cold, and soon
Winds bring a fine and bitter snow.
In flower still….